Eyes Without a Face
by Qui-ti
Summary: Six years after Chosen, Spike and Buffy have found themselves in London. Neither knows of the other's presence, until an fateful encounter. Their reunion is interrupted when the Big Bad surfaces and they find themselves sent back in time to London, 1879.
1. Chapter 1

This was bubbling around in my head in the middle of the night a few weeks ago, and I finally got around to putting it down to the screen. :) This is kind of a weird/amateur-ish-y synopsis, but I think by the time the whole story's done it will be pretty good. :) Please read and review! Feedback makes me happy! (Oh, and if the formatting is messed up, I'll fix it later-- right now, I have to upload this before I'm off to do chores, haha.)

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

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**_Eyes Without a Face_**

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_Chapter 1_

It had been more than five years since he'd seen her—to others of his kind, the period of time would be considered quite insignificant, but for Spike, every day of living without Buffy was an eternity.

True, the last image he'd seen of the Slayer was of her with another man, but he clung to the memory, trying to recall every last detail. He'd done that before his "death" at the Hellmouth, wanting his last thought to be of Buffy—and it had been, until he was unceremoniously reborn into Angel's office.

Spike smirked to himself as he poured yet another drink into the smudged glass he held, finishing the bottle but having a dusty second promptly provided by the bartender. Angel had had a great run and ended just as he'd always wanted—burning out in a blaze of glory. Even though he and his grandsire had been competitors from the first time they'd laid eyes upon one another, he had fond memories of the late vampire.

It had been a shock to him that he'd survived the battle in L.A. He hadn't even realized that he was alive until he woke up in a dark basement three months after the fact, unaware of the time that had passed or what the fates of his comrades were—but relatively sure that they had not fared as well as he had. To Spike, there was no alternative to survival; losing Buffy, however, had made giving up seem all the more appealing. It had been one of the darker times in his life, trying to stay on this dimension, or plane, or whatever the bloody theologists called it, when for the first time in his life he was completely and utterly alone.

His thoughts were interrupted when the door opened and let a flood of the day's last sunlight enter the bar. He shied back instinctively but froze when he glanced casually at the woman who had just entered.

For a moment, he thought it was her, the woman who had plagued his thoughts since he'd first laid eyes upon her in the Bronze. It was a fleeting notion, thought, when he noted the taller stature, darker hair, and big brown eyes. The woman wasn't Buffy—it was _Dawn_.

Immediately, he whirled off his stool and receded into the shadowy recesses of the room, cursing the familiar leather duster he wore. What Dawn was doing in London, he had no idea, but he was not about to give his Li'l Bit the scare of a lifetime—there were enough ghosts in her past without one manifesting itself into her life without a warning.

As he watched her approach the bartender and set herself onto the same stool he had occupied, Spike could only think about how much she looked like her Big Sis. In the six years since he'd seen Dawn, she had grown from the awkward and gangly teen into a beautiful young woman. Affection he had long repressed rose within him and made it even harder to refrain from bounding over tot eh girl and pulling her into the tightest embrace she'd ever know.

"What a sodding sap I've become," Spike murmured to himself, smiling fondly at the girl despite his spurned affection. The girl was still talking to the bartender when Spike sensed the last rays of sunlight disappear beneath the horizon, and when she stood to leave, he was out the door behind her before he could remember why he _shouldn't_ be.This very well could be his only chance to see Dawn for the rest of his days—not to mention Buffy. As he began following her on the crowded streets of London, the thought that he may see the Slayer again seized his soul and compelled him to disregard any idea that this was a bad decision.

The crowded streets were quickly thinning, and Dawn turned onto a side street, heading, as Spike quickly realized, to a cemetery. He grinned to himself at the similarities between the sisters, then dropped further back behind her, no longer having the concealment of the teeming streets. A chill rose in the air as fog swept around the graveyard and Dawn shivered, pulling her leather jacket more tightly around her thin shoulders. She really did look just like Buffy—and it was no wonder, Spike realized; she was now about the age that the Slayer had been when he'd last seen her.

The brunette pushed open a wrought-iron gate and stepped from the grassy path in the cemetery onto a cobbled street lined with dark houses. The brick wall dividing the graveyard from the homes momentarily stole Dawn from Spike's view, and he experienced a moment of panic when he heard her begin to chuckle softly—had she realized that he was following her? A moment later, though, and he caught the scent of the five vamps waiting behind the wall, on the street, prepared to ambush their prey.

Before Spike could think of what to do, he heard Dawn's voice—a voice uninhibited by fear or worry, which is exactly what he was expecting to hear. "Dusty night, isn't it?" And then the night was pierced with the unmistakable sound of a vampire dusting.

Jumping up and peering over the wall, his feet securely placed upon a headstone, he saw his Li'l Bit fighting the remaining four vamps, her stake held at ready as she kicked back and dusted a second. He was momentarily stunned that in the time he had been gone, she had grown so much; so taken aback, really, that he didn't notice the vamp holding the shovel coming from behind Dawn and—

"Crap," the girl said cheerfully as she slumped to the ground, the hard metal hitting the back of her head and knocking her into semi-consciousness. She stared upwards at the three vampires remaining, thinking to herself that her sister would be _quite_ mad that she up and got herself attacked _again_ and wondering exactly what her next move could be, in the lying on the ground and barely-conscious method of fighting. It had almost dawned on her, when one vampire kneeled on the ground next to her body, that this may not exactly work out very much in her benefit—when a blur of black and white appeared, ripped the shovel out of the stunned vamp's hands, and promptly decapitated it with the blade, a cloud of dust momentarily clouding her savior's features but clearing quickly to reveal—

"Oh, my dear lord. Dawn!" a voice called frantically from down the street. Dawn looked in the direction of the sound and saw her sister's Watcher running towards her, and when she glanced back her savior was no longer there, nor were the vamps that had attacked her; _they_ were currently running as quickly away from the girl as they possibly could. "Dawn," Giles panted, arriving at the prostrate girl and gently lifting her body into his arms, despite his obvious exhaustion from his run. "I'm right glad those vamps saw me coming and thought I was a potential threat—I don't think I could slay a teabag right now after _that_ run down the block."

It took a moment for her to register the words before she could coherently reply. "_Huh_?"

"The three vampires, Dawn," Giles explained patiently, his voice taking on a soothing quality when he realized exactly how hard the girl had been hit on the head. Maybe explanations would be better in the morning… "Just rest for now, Dawn. Buffy's due home any minute and I'm sure she'll be _thrilled_ to hear about the latest near-death experience you've had."

"Funny, Giles," the girl murmured, her eyes drifting shut and remaining that way until they arrived at their small house, Giles setting her down on the couch just as Buffy's voice announced her presence.

"Giles, what happened?" the Slayer questioned frantically when entering the room and seeing Dawn's nearly-unconscious body lying on the couch; before the Watcher could provide her with an answer, she was at her sister's side and trying to illicit a response from the girl. "Dawn, wake up, it's Buffy. Dawn!" Rolling his eyes at the slight overreaction of his Slayer, Giles left the room and went to retrieve ice for Dawn's head from the kitchen.

"Oh," the younger sister said, opening her eyes once more and locking her gaze with the blonde's. "Buffy."

"Everything's alright now, Dawn," Buffy said soothingly, brushing a strand of her sister's dark hair away from her face. The words that followed were spoken almost so softly that she didn't hear them.

"I know it is, Buffy… because he's still watching over me." And with that, Dawn closed her eyes and finally drifted off into sleep—and providing her sister with a night of insomnia over her ambiguous assertion.


	2. Chapter 2

This was slower coming that I anticipated-- I just got back to school and I have the schedule from Sunnydale, so it may take me a while to add chapters. :( Sorry. If any of you are interested in beta-ing, which would be a _huge _help to me (I really needed some of that with this chapter), email me at I hope you enjoy, and thanks for the reviews!

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**_Eyes Without a Face_**

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_Chapter 2_

Buffy sighed as she let the door slam behind her, the tinkle of a bell drowned out by the banging of wood against wood. She'd been to five demon hang-outs in London and _still_ hadn't heard any news about the vamps that had attacked her sister. Stopping outside of a café, the Slayer collapsed onto a bench and gave her aching feet a rest—four-inch heels really weren't ideal for a day of demon hunting, something she'd tried to tell herself for the past ten years.

Well, the blonde thought wryly, it was closer to _fifteen_ years now that she'd been the Slayer—although in more recent years _the_ Slayer wasn't exactly the best choice of words. The girls at her (for lack of a better term, said Giles) school were doing quite well; six years after the fight at Sunnydale, and they were _still_ arriving everyday, although not in fear for their lives as the Potentials had been so long ago.

Buffy let out another sigh and stood, wincing as she put weight upon her tender toes once more. Most of the Slayers who had been there in Sunnydale had chosen to live normal lives, but a few stayed behind to help Buffy run her school. She was grateful for the help, as it was _more_ than stressful dealing with angsty teens (with their young, graceful bodies and un-aching feet, Buffy thought enviously), but Kennedy and Rona didn't seem to be as counted upon as she was, especially when it came to duties that no one particularly liked.

_Like finding easy prey for the new Slayers to kill_, Buffy thought to herself, rolling her eyes and nearly about to call it quits when she heard her name called out from behind her. The voice registered in her memory and her mouth flew open in shock as she whirled to face someone she hadn't seen in six years.

"Clem!" she squealed excitedly, forgetting her part of 'calm-and-mature-woman' the moment the girlish squeak escaped from her mouth. "How have you been?"

"I've been great!" the demon remarked happily, hugging his old friend enthusiastically and patting her back. "How're the little Slayers doing?"

"Sometimes it seems like _they're_ the Big Bad," Buffy joked, her face pulled into a huge smile. It had been so long since she'd seen the friendly demon, and his presence, although surprising, was entirely welcome. "Why're you in town, Clem?"

"Ah, just traveling—with the Hellmouth in Cleveland and all, I was heading that way from France. You know, they have amazing kitten poker championships there!"

Buffy arched a brow but refrained from saying anything rude. Clem had always been one of the _good_ guys—not just of demons, but of guys in general. It was comforting to know that they still existed—although whether they were free from debilitating skin conditions, of the human or demon kind, was rather debatable.

Clem looked at his watch in the middle of a tirade about unfair French judges and gave a sudden start. "Gosh, Buffy, I'm sorry to leave you like this but I've got to run off." When Buffy nodded her understanding, an idea occurred to the demon, and he quickly asked, "Do you think we can meet up later, before I head off to the States?"

The blonde's smile brightened again as she said, "Definitely! I want to make with the reminiscing. Where do you want to meet?"

The two agreed to be at a nearby bar later that night, then went their separate ways, the Slayer heading home for a well-earned siesta, Clem heading the opposite direction to a nearby cemetery. He walked along the grassy, headstone-lined path until he reached a rather run-down crypt and knocked politely on the door.

He was greeted with a very disheveled and _very_ drunk Spike.

The second the two demon pals locked eyes, Spike threw his arms into the air (the half-full bottle in his hands going flying) and pulled Clem into a crushing bear hug. "Clemmy, m'boy, it's been too long!" Spike yelled gleefully, his words slurred and slow. "What're you doin' in London?" The vampire pulled away and pounded the other demon's back jovially, the action almost causing him to fall over.

"Spike, let's sit down," Clem said soothingly, leading him over to a lumpy couch in the corner and letting the inebriated vampire collapse onto it. "I was passing through London from the poker champs and couldn't resist on dropping in on you, buddy!"

"Awww, you're so sweet Clemmy," Spike said, his eyes glazed over with drunken happiness. Clem shook his head at the vampire, knowing that he had been pining for the Slayer for the past six years and was too (for lack of a better word) noble to seek her out. Today, however, he would make things right.

"Spike," he began in a business-like tone, "Clean up. You and I are going out for a night on the town!"

Several hours later, the two demons began to head for a nearby demon bar, Spike sobered up but obviously still bothered by something. Clem knew Spike only drank that much when he was pining for the Slayer, and since it had been years since he'd seen his friend in that condition, he knew something must have recently sent those feelings to the surface again.

As they walked through a dark, empty alley, Clem began to think about how the past six years must have been for his friend. Spike was never really alone like he was now, and while Clem had made efforts to visit him as often as possible, their lives were separate now. Sunnydale had been great—it had fulfilled not only their demonic desires, but gave them simply a place to be who they were. Even with the newly active Hellmouth in Cleveland, the pull wasn't nearly as strong as it had been in Sunnydale. Lately, Clem realized, it seemed as if the whole world was in a daze, and for someone like Spike, he knew the feeling would only add to his obvious loneliness.

At the abrupt sound of speaking, clinking glasses, and music, Clem broke from his reverie and realized that they were standing in the doorway of the bar. "You comin', mate?" Spike questioned, giving his friend an odd look.

"Yeah, of course!" Clem's demeanor brightened considerably as the two entered the dimly lit room and settled themselves onto a pair of stools. After tonight, a slice of the contentment the vampire once knew would be returned to him.

They chatted for a few minutes about kitten poker before Clem looked at his watch and jumped to his feet. It was two minutes until Buffy was to arrive, and he thought it best not to be there to disrupt the potentially emotional moment that was bound to occur. "Somethin' wrong, Clem?" Spike asked, giving his fellow demon a second strange look.

"B-Bathroom," he stuttered, developing a pained look on his face and clutching his midsection. "Something went down funny in the second stomach—I'll be back in a minute!" As he spoke, his voice went up several octaves, and by the time he was finished with his feeble lie, he sounded rather more like Britney Spears than the demon he was.

Luckily, the alcohol Spike had consumed made him more suggestible to weakly-planned lies. "Take your time, mate," he said, downing shot and pouring himself another.

Breathing a sigh of relief, the demon made his way to the back of the room, heading down a hall and exiting out the back door. He stood in the alley near the entrance, waiting there until, after only a few minutes, he saw the petite blonde walking quickly down the sidewalk. Slipping further back into the shadows, he was unnoticed as Buffy opened he door to the bar and stepped inside.

Clem smiled; his plan had worked perfectly.

Spike sipped a drink unenthusiastically, rather uninterested in the public setting but not impatient to leave. He would be bored if he was alone in his crypt or if he was with friends "out on the town." Ever since the Slayer had been dropped back into his life once again, just as unattainable as always, the will to live that had taken him so long to acquire after Los Angeles had completely faded away.

As he swallowed the remaining contents of the smudged glass and set it back on the table to refill it, the tinkle of a bell announced the opening of a door—and a scent hit him so hard that he wheeled to his feet uncontrollably.

Standing in the doorway not five feet away from him was the object of his torment, the woman who had plagued his thoughts for a dozen years. Buffy's mouth dropped open, the door swinging shut behind her unnoticed as her hazel eyes locked with the sapphire gaze of the vampire before her. The look on his face was that of complete disbelief and the Slayer was sure her own mirrored his. Drawing in an unnecessary breath, Spike tried to speak but could find no words for the moment.

It ended soon enough. Before either of them managed to utter a single word, Buffy fell to the floor in a dead faint.


End file.
